Not What It Used To Be
by Vietta
Summary: With Shinra operating within the strictures of the WRO, being a Turk is not what it used to be. Rated M for mature audiences. Eventual Reno/Tseng, possible other ships. Set two years after DOC
1. Blink

**Author's Note:**

** Hello, dear reader. This is my first attempt at a 100 Theme challenge. I intend to make this a 100 chapter continuous story as opposed to the theme challenges I always see where there are 100 one shots that don't really relate to each other aside from the ship they represent. **

** Strap yourselves in, this is going to be a long ride for all of us.**

**Timeline: Following the events of Dirge of Cerberus, approximately two years after game. (Year 2012)**

**Characters will vary. **

**Rating: M (for violence/gore, language, and overall adult situations that may or may not include smut but that are obviously not intended for everyone. I do NOT want children reading this.)**

**This story will be written in first person point of view and the character who is narrating the experience will be noted at the beginning of the chapter. Reno will be the main character, but others may be used.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own FFVII (not like we don't all fuckin know that xD)**

* * *

_**Reno's POV**_

**1\. Blink**

_Blink. Breathe. Move. DO something!_

The darkness and pain are overwhelming. I can feel jagged rubble pressing into my skin, cutting through me. I can hear the cries of the dying and the crackling of flames. Parts of the plate are still raining down and crushing us all, burying some of us alive while giving others a sweet sudden release into the Lifestream as vital organs are forcefully shut down and spines are cracked like twigs. My own screams won't come, my throat is too choked with dust to make a sound. I'm having enough trouble pulling air through my grit-clogged mouth to even fill my lungs for a breath, let alone a scream. The dryness of my throat is only a minor discomfort compared to the new and terrifying sensation of being slowly crushed to death. I know that bones are broken, that some of the warmth I'm feeling is not from flames, but from blood. Still I claw at the rubble around me with broken and bleeding fingers, fighting to keep near the surface of the wreckage. I know that if I allow myself to be pulled beneath it all, any chance of rescue will be erased. I don't even know if they will come looking for me, I have no idea if there are civilians around the wreckage who would search for survivors. I thought I had been far enough from the plate to avoid being brought down with it. I had only paused for breath to watch my own mortifying handiwork bring the world crumbling down. I had just wanted a taste of the consequences of my actions, not the full meal.

Finally, I force my eyelids to open, seeing the rubble-crowded darkness for a few moments more before my own ceiling comes into focus. As the nightmare fades, I sit up, tossing away blankets that choke me. The sensation of being buried alive persists, as it always does, and I pull myself out of bed, forcing air into my lungs like a drowning man. My legs are shaky as I stagger to the bathroom, tripping over discarded clothing I had stripped away the night before in a drunken stupor. The drinking is supposed to protect me from the nightmares, the _memories_, but it doesn't work as often anymore. There are still nights where I get to remain blissfully unaware of what I've done, what I've been through, but this wasn't one of them.

I stand before the mirror, face dripping. I feel too old to look this young. The slow work of time on my face worries me, especially since Rude's beard is peppered with light tones already and he's only got four years of age on me. But here I am, still a shock of red and smooth skin between scars. Sure, maybe I've got a worry line here or there, but they aren't close to how I feel I should look. After all I've been through and all the terrible things that plague my sleep and my silences, I should be a latticework of lines and creases. Instead, here I am fresh faced and thirty, feeling like an old man.


	2. Fantasy

**2\. Fantasy**

_**Reno's POV**_

"You're here early."

I yawn my displeasure from the couch in my office as Tseng steps in and makes for the coffee pot on my desk, tsking in annoyance when he realizes that the delightful scent of coffee is, as of right now, a cruel lie because the pot isn't brewed. I sit up, making room for him on the couch that he takes gullibly, and then I lay back down, resting my head on his leg. He doesn't comment on it and pulls out his tablet, a musical chime hitting my hangover like a slapping hand.

"Damn, that's loud." I wrinkle my nose, eyes closed as I settle into a more comfortable position on my couch, my arm thrown over my eyes and my legs dangling off the edge and kicking empty air.

"Hungover again?"

"Yup."

"Why here so early then? Usually you're late with those." Tseng's tablet makes a few more obnoxious noises and I groan audibly until he turns the sound off.

"Nightmare." It's a simple, honest answer. I've been getting better at those.

"You'll have more tonight, I'm sure." There is a deep sigh as he shifts, nearly displacing my head from his leg as he tries to get comfortably distant from me. I have this feeling that means I am not going to like what our morning meeting has in store.

Sitting up slowly, I ignore my spinning head and turn to face him. "Where am I going today, Tseng?"

A sigh is his initial answer and I feel my stomach clench. _Shit._I know that look, and I know the answer. "Please, Gaia, tell me you're not seriously sending me to Midgar."

"It's the only place we haven't fully checked for Fantasy. I have to." He won't meet my eyes, intent on his tablet. I want to smack him.

My nails cut into my palms and I stand, throwing open my window and letting in a cool taintless breeze. There's no more Reactor fueled smog here, Midgar has been settled into ruins long enough that Edge's air is clear of that particular poison. A stench still greets me with the opening of the window and I chase it away with a cigarette, plopping myself into my office chair and refusing to look at Tseng, staring instead at the ruins I'm being forced to perform reconnaissance in _again. _"What the fuck do you expect me to find in that hell hole, Tseng?"

"Answers, Reno. If the others were here, you know I'd send them instead." His voice is curt now, he's on the defensive as my anger boils and bites along my tongue.

"Oh yeah, 'cause it makes it so much better to know that Rude or Laney or poor, pathetic, new little Lee would be sent into that shitstorm." I take a deep drag, forcing smoke into my lungs to ease the tremble that's trying to work it's way from my heartbeat into my hands. Tseng knows what going to Midgar does to me, to all of us, but he also knows we have few options left. Fantasy is a dangerous new concoction that we can't find a source for. We've nabbed a few dealers, but they couldn't get us the answers we wanted. We don't know who is making it or how; all we have is a street name and a list of effects. Its spreading from recreational pastime to more sinister use as a daterape drug and I'm getting sick of seeing women and men alike in WRO specialist care because a heavy handed opportunist shattered their psyche with a few tablets in an unwatched drink.

"You're taking Avery in with you today."

"No I ain't."

"You are." Tseng's voice is stern, daring me to try and defy a direct order again.

We glare at each other in silence, our wills warring silently before I direct my gaze out the window again. "She'll slow me down. She's not ready for somethin' like that yet."

"She went through it already when she fought against Deepground, Reno. Remember; I pulled her from the WRO for a reason, but that reason wasn't because she can't handle it. She's ready to be a Turk." There's a reassuring confidence in his voice and I know he's right; Avery wouldn't be a Turk if she hadn't proved herself capable in the WRO and she sure as hell wouldn't be under my tutelage if she hadn't scored high on our tests.

That doesn't mean I want to drag the poor girl into hell. "Tseng, what makes you think any answers will be in Midgar?"

"Because if I were to try doing something illegal, I would have my base in those ruins. I'd carve a niche for myself amongst the decayed corpses and twisted scrap-metal and I'd brew my poisons there. That's why." I shudder and he continues tapping away on his tablet, his voice light as if I had asked him the weather. "I already told Avery to come in early for the debriefing. I trust you to take care of her in Midgar, just like you take care of her everywhere else."

I don't answer, lighting another cigarette and chucking the first butt out the window.


	3. Honey

**3\. Honey**

_**Reno's POV**_

* * *

The coffee is done when Avery walks in, earlier than Tseng had asked her to be, with a spring in her step and a smile. I remember when I was excited for missions, but it's been a long time since I've really wanted to do anything but grimace over the work I'm assigned. Of course, things are different between the dirty blonde sitting across from my desk and myself. She's eager to please, new to her promotion, and unaware of where we're going today.

As is standard routine for us now, I pour coffee for the both of us, adding an extra cup for Tseng. Ever since Avery was assigned as my temporary partner and mentee, I've been pulling her aside for a morning meeting and coffee. It's the easiest way for me to get the day started and hell, the girl wasn't in the habit of drinking coffee before she came to us and if that isn't a damned shame then I don't know what is.

Black spills into white mugs as I pour, Avery's cup turning a pale brown from creamer I keep in a drawer near at hand. Tseng and I take ours strong and black, but Avery has yet to learn proper coffee tolerance and grimaces at the strength I brew into each pot. I pull a bottle of honey out of my special drawer, giving a generous dose into her cup before passing it to her, and she gives me a look, her lips pulling at the corners in a small frown.

"Reno, you only give me honey when you're about to do something awful to me." Those thin lips purse tighter, her eyes narrowing with them. "Sir, where are we being sent?" She directs the second question to Tseng, looking at the coffee suspiciously, almost like I've poured Zolom venom in her cup instead of sweetness.

"Midgar."

Her face blanches pale, tan skin turning a strange grey color at her answer, and the cup is pushed back my direction again. "More honey, please."

With a grim smile I ooze another generous dose into her mug.


	4. Meander

**4\. Meandering**

_**Reno's POV**_

* * *

The drive out to Midgar is short, too short, and Avery fills it with questions that make it seem longer than it should by any right feel. I tried turning up the radio a bit, a subtle enough hint for most people to catch, but Avery either ignored it or didn't catch on.

"So, why is Tseng so convinced anyone would want to hide in Midgar? I mean, that place is so dangerous!" She's whining and I wanna deck her.

"He told you, he and Rufus are convinced that it's a perfect hiding spot. If I were a criminal, I'd wanna hide there too. No one in their right mind would go there, so people in their wrong mind would hide there without a second thought. Fuckin' think about it, Ave!" I am getting thoroughly aggravated.

"But that place is a polluted wreck! It's not safe!"

"You scared?"

"Aren't you?"

Hit the nail on the head with that question. She doesn't doubt Tseng at all, she and I are just in the same boat; we don't wanna be in Midgar. No one wants to go there. It's necessary, but after all the shit that has happened there in the past five years the place is heavily avoided. We've tried to clean it up, but that's one hell of a project and with the Remnants showing up and pulling their traumatic bullshit there and Deepground's current and past transgressions stemming from the damn hell hole, it never got done.

"Course I am." Honesty is the best policy, after all. "I just know that it needs to be done. We've checked everywhere else, so we have to check here too." Honestly, we could have been more thorough checking everywhere else first, in my opinion, but there are only six of us Turks left and WRO troops are still busy routing out what's left of Deepground so we really couldn't have been more studious in our attempts. We probably missed a lot, but we've been doing our best. "Look, Ave, nothin's gonna happen. Face it, people don't go to Midgar. It's frickin' awful." Tripping over rubble and finding bodies beneath it would make even the most hardened criminal shit his pants.

"You know that, I know that, so why are we scared still?" Poor girl looks like she's going to cry.

I shake my head, seeing those thin lips wobbling dangerously. She's not been a Turk for very long and, as such, she hasn't developed the kind of thick skin the rest of us have. It's like comparing cardboard to leather. She can hold things in, but eventually they're going to seep through. "Look, shorty, have I let anythin' shitty happen to you?"

"No."

"Do you trust me to keep shitty things from happenin' then?"

There's some hesitation before she nods, wiping her eyes on the back of her hands. I smile and pat her shoulder gently, parking outside the ruins we used to call home. "Then keep on trustin' me, Ave. Our priority is to crawl through this shithole and look for dealers, makers, or users. We gotta find at least one and the quicker we do, the quicker we go back to HQ. If we apply ourselves, I see this takin' three days to get through. Deepground has cleared outta here, there's no Remnants here, and there's likely as not no fuckin' people here at all. We don't even post WRO members here anymore. We might find a scrounger or two lookin' through here for scraps, but they won't give us any guff. Keep your head and this'll be a breeze."

My pep talk has an effect, and I think it's a good one, and Avery steps out of the car with a more professional face on. I lead her into the ruins, sidestepping rubble that has collapsed over the path that got cleared out a few years ago so that we could get into the place with troops. All I can hope for as we start meandering through the haphazard remains of streets that used to be bustling with life, is that I didn't lie to her when I said this would be a breeze.


	5. Triumph

**(sorry for the delay in posting this, I had some personal stuff come up (and I got distracted by a new smartphone))**

_**Tseng's POV**_

* * *

It's been a few days since I sent them out to Midgar and, thankfully, Reno's been giving me regular updates on their status though I didn't ask him to. Every few hours I get a text letting me know exactly how pointless Reno thinks the assignment is and that they're doing just fine. He doesn't say that they're fine, but the messages he sends lead me to believe that that is true.

I knew that they were safe, albeit bored, when Reno sent a picture of a skeletal hand he'd rearranged into a 'thumbs up' position. While I disapproved of the morbid manipulation, I still found myself smiling a little. That was the first afternoon.

The next night, while I was trying to cook dinner, I got another message. This time, Reno had taken a picture of Avery asleep in a pew of the church. They'd made fairly good progress to be on the outskirts of Sector Five by their second night, but I wondered if they were looking hard enough while I ate.

Today,I get a call from Avery. I had been getting a few pictures and messages from Reno throughout the day that had me believing everything was going just as smoothly as it had been since the outset.

Now, when I flip my phone open, I assume that Reno's taking a selfie with another corpse and that she's finally going to tell me her thoughts on the matter.

I don't expect to hear her hiccupping and sobbing on the other end.

"Avery, breathe. What's going on? I need facts, not hysterics." I keep my voice calm and even manage to remain in my seat, though I've cracked the pen in my hand with the effort.

_"I-I sh-shot him!" _

She's still sobbing and bawling on the other end, but through the static and tears, the message is received. I grit my teeth together, trying to keep any panic out of my voice. "Is he dead?"

There's a rustling on the other end and Reno's voice interrupts the sobbing. I sigh in relief as I hear him begin chewing her out and my grip on the pen relaxes, pieces of cracked off plastic falling onto my desk.

_"Dammit, Avery! I told ya not to call him!" _His voice comes through a little louder when he's won the phone. _"Hey, bossman. How's the weather?"_

"What happened?" I haven't got time for his nonsense and, if he's bleeding, he could be short on time as well.

_"Well, we caught the guy. Can we leave it at that for a minute?"_I don't answer and he gets the hint, sighing into the receiver. _"We found a dude who thought we were comin' up to buy, he was high as hell, I tried to cuff him, he started runnin' and pulled a gun, I cast Pyramid, Avery's bullet ricocheted and hit me and his bullet ricocheted and he hit himself. It's just a graze, man."_

I hear Avery in the background, her voice high pitched and irritating. The girl is obviously still panicking. _ "The whole bullet went into your arm you asshole! Don't lie!"_

"_Fine, fine, she got me good. An inch to the left and I wouldn't be bleedin' right now, but that's just my luck I suppose. We'll be home in time for dinner, Tsengy-poo, bring pizza! Kisses!"_

The line goes dead and I know better than to try and call back. Reno won't answer either phone now, not with one arm bleeding and his hands full of Avery and a captive. I think for a moment about going into Midgar myself to bring them out, but I know better. I have no idea where they are in there and I would just end up causing problems by getting lost myself. Instead, I gather a small medical team from the WRO and we make our way to the closest entrance to Midgar. I lean on Reno's car, arms crossed over my chest, and take a brief moment to wonder over how I should receive them. Avery might still be unprofessionally sobbing, but I doubt that Reno will still be bleeding. He has Restore materia on hand and he'll have improperly sealed up the wound, I'm sure of it.

I'm worrying a little bit more when it starts getting dark with no sign of them. My phone hasn't rung at all, so I know that Reno is still conscious enough to keep Avery from their cells, but that doesn't make me feel any better. My Second has a bad habit of blowing serious injuries off like they're nothing. If he gets a papercut, he's going to let the entire world know about it and he'll whine like a brat, but if I stabbed him he'd probably try to shrug it off.

The medical team is getting restless, if their whispers and shifting is any indication, but I don't budge. Reno's car is going to have an imprint of my ass on the hood if he doesn't hurry up and come back.

About the time the sun has set, we hear movement and shouting in the rubble in front of us. I breathe a sigh of relief and straighten up, walking forward to help the strange, multi-legged shape that's stumbling down the poorly lit path. The med team turns on their headlights, illuminating the odd group.

"Dammit, ya prick, I said to quit fuckin' kickin' me!" Reno's swearing and shouting, tugging their captive along behind him with one arm. Avery is trying to help, but their captive is thrashing quite a bit and, after her friendly fire, she seems deflated and unconfident in her assistance. All three are bloody and haggard looking, though relatively sound.

I approach and grab their captive by his free arm, glad to see that they managed to get cuffs on him after all. "Both of you go to the medics. I'll get him the rest of the way."

Reno shoots me a look that's a mixture of relief and wounded pride, but he releases the man into my care. Avery scrambles past the two of us to get to the medics, her hands shaking violently. I grab the brunette by the neck, placing a gun to his temple, and he walks a lot more cooperatively after that. I get him into the back of the med truck without any more troubles and surrender him over to sedatives and tie downs.

"Reno, I said go to the medics." He is fumbling with his keys, trying to get into his car.

"I'm fine, man! I already healed it up!" He's favoring his left arm, despite his attempts to make it seem like he's perfectly alright.

"You get the bullet out?"

There's a bit of silence before he answers me with a grumbling sigh. "Fine, I'll go with the damn parasites. Make sure my baby gets home." For a second I think that he's talking about Avery and I raise an eyebrow, but he tosses me his keys and I catch the message.

"I'll drive her back to HQ safely. Promise." I can't help but smile because he's stubbornly trudging to the med truck, dragging his feet in the dirt like a toddler going to bed early. He even has his lower lip sticking out. It's ridiculous, to be sure, but not an unexpected response.

"Alright, so what's the full story of this one?" I ask, arms crossed over my chest. We've made it back to HQ and I've pulled both of them into my office.

Reno is temperamental and slightly loopy after having the bullet removed from his arm and field dressed. He acts like stitches and a sling are the worst thing that has ever happened to him. "I already told ya on the phone!"

Avery is still struggling not to cry, her knees pulled up to her chest. She's sitting on the couch and sniffling occasionally. I want to slap her everytime I hear the snotty sounds. They're disgusting. She's contributed nothing to the story at all since they got back.

"So you approached the man, he tried to sell you drugs, and then you tried to apprehend him? That's it?" I find that hard to believe. Reno doesn't work that way.

He shuffles a little and sits, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, so maybe there's a little more detail than that." I steeple my fingers in front of me, waiting for elaboration. He sighs and starts spilling his guts.

"Aight, here's what went down. Ave and I were wanderin' through Sector Four and finally found some damn signs of life that didn't just turn out to be a bunch of rats or hedgehog pies. We followed them and found the dude we brought back in some rundown as shit house smokin' weed or somethin'. He saw my tatts and thought I was part of the gang he was sellin' to and so he tried to sell me the Fantasy. Apparently someone from Cressida's little gang was scheduled to come buy it off him-"

"I thought Cressida was dead?" I interrupt, raising an eyebrow.

"That makes two of us, man. Didn't think I'd hafta deal with that tramp again." He shakes his head, rubbing his cheek lightly. Reno had been working for Cressida years ago when Legend brought him in and I was content to let the two of them handle our dealings with her at the time. Since her base of operations was in Midgar, it was assumed that she had died under plate like most everyone else. It's a little surprising that an old problem like her would surface again without our knowledge.

He continues with the story, letting his hand drop back to tap his fingers against his thigh. "Anyways, he thought I was Cressida's so he was gonna sell it to me. I agreed and tried to cuff him when he turned around, so he thought I was tryin' ta steal it from him and started runnin'. Avery and I chased him and he pulled a gun. I cast Pyramid so he'd hit shoot his own damn self, but Avery had already pulled out her piece and shot at him. I got hit and so did he. I think he was too high to notice though. Who the hell gets hit in the hip and then fuckin' kicks like a mule all the damn way out of Midgar?"

Avery had started crying again at the mention of her friendly fire and I resist the urge to snap at her. It'll only make it worse, if she's anything like Elena used to be, which so far she has been. "Alright, so it was entirely friendly fire. That's good to know. Once your man sobers up, we'll interrogate him. Avery, you haven't seen an interrogation yet, so I need you to sit through it with us quietly." I glare at her and her sniffles stop immediately. I stifle a sigh of relief, turning back to Reno. "Is there anything else? Besides the fact that you went through Midgar mishandling corpses and writing swear words on every piece of paper you came across?"

"I didn't write swears on all of them. Only the ones too far gone to be folded into airplanes, man." Reno smiles and Avery giggles a little. I wish he were lying, but I know he probably shot airplanes off of every building he could crawl onto. He's a five year old at heart. In some ways that is endearing; in other ways it's damned annoying.

"Answer the question, Reno." I can't help but smile a little at his childishness.

"Nothin' else to report. It's the same as we left it, just more rat filled and less Deepground-ey." He stands, pointing to his arm. "Have I got permission to heal this over now, bossman? I hate stitches. I don't wanna be out till this fucker heals."

"No, Reno." I shake my head, wondering if I'll have to order him to let it heal naturally. "You can't just magic away every injury you ever get. It isn't good for you and you know it." He groans loudly and sits back down with a loud plop and a creak of protest from my chair. It's unhealthy to keep the body from utilizing its natural defenses to pain and sickness. If I have to, which I hate to admit but I probably will have to, I will let him heal it, but I'd prefer not to. I can't afford to have one of my best Turks out for a few weeks, especially since I only have six Turks on hand at all. It's been hard to recover from the damage of the past few years and any recruits we've had have all been sent to the WRO unless they show extreme promise in their training, like Avery and Lee did.

"Do I still get pizza?" The puppy dog eyes he tries to shoot me with are going to get him slapped someday.

"Buy your own pizza, Reno." With our haphazard little triumph of catching the perp, we got back to business as usual. Avery's tears dry up and are replaced with giggles and Reno keeps pestering me about damn food until I order them both out of my office.

They are talking loudly when they leave, Reno trying to get Avery to buy him pizza as recompense for having shot him in the arm. He'll probably get her to agree to do it for him, though we all know he's got more than enough money to buy his own damn pizza. Once their voices have trailed away, I pull out my phone, dialing Rufus' number to fill him in on everything that has happened.


	6. Feel

**6\. Feel**

_**Reno's POV**_

* * *

My arm throbs with pain as the painkillers I was given in the medical truck wear off, leaving me gritting my teeth as I try to find a comfortable position to sleep in. Pain isn't new for me, I've dealt with far worse than this, but that doesn't make it any less annoying to be left tossing and turning as my arm protests every angle I keep it at.

It doesn't take long for me to give up on sleep for the night.

Cigarette ash drops onto my bare leg and I swear, brushing the heat away from my skin. I've got the television on, the reporter on the screen telling me an abridged version of shit I knew a week ago. The news is a helluva lot less interesting when you're part of the group that decides what should and shouldn't be public knowledge. Should the masses know that Deepground forces raided another farm outside Junon? Yeah, that's something they can worry about. Should they know that the only possible survivors of the raid are the three children of the couple who are being held hostage? Should they know that these aren't the first children Deepground has grabbed from their homes and started training since their normal recruiting methods are no longer available, seeing as they don't have SOLDIERS bringing half-dead men and women for sick bastards like Hojo to alter and swell their ranks with? No. No they really don't need to know that shit. Not yet. Not until we have some sort of solution to fix it.

I change the channel to some dumb ass horror movie, plenty of fake gore and plot holes, and grab a slice of cold pizza from the box on my coffee table. Pizza and cigarettes are a pretty good mix. I'd feel better if I had some damn narcotics, but I'm not allowed to have them outside of emergency situations. My dumb ass abused too many of them early on in my career. I still wish I had them though. I feel like shit.


	7. Wrecked

_**Chapter 7. Wrecked**_

_**Reno's POV**_

My sleep was uneventful, probably because I wasn't out long enough to dream, though I have been protesting being awake since my eyes opened and my neck made it very, very clear that it didn't appreciate the position I had passed out in. There's a wet spot on the couch where I spilled the whiskey nightcap that had tucked me into the warm arms of sleep in the wee hours of the morning and now, in the less wee hours of the morning, I'm trying to mop the mess up. The stain is going to be there no matter what I do, but I can at least try to make it look less like I had a gastrointestinal blowout on the couch. It won't work, but at least I gave it a shot, right?

When I pull into work, I see two cars that make my grimacing and pained face light up with glee. Rude and Elena are back and Gods above and below, I have missed them so much.

I rush into the office lounge, glad to see them but also surprised that they're here. Rude grunts at me and Elena scoots her chair away from him, letting me know that the conversation I just walked in on was probably private bitching that I ain't allowed in on. Whatever; I ignore it and plop myself into Rude's lap, planting a large, wet smooch on his cheek. "Rudey, baby! You've been gone so long!"

"It's only been a week, you brat." He wipes his face, but there's a smile for me behind the disgust at the slobber I just left on his cheek.

I wrap my good arm around his neck and lean backwards towards Elena, expectantly offering her my cheek. "Where's my sugar, Laney-pie?"

Her girlish giggle that I've come to love is cut short by a small outburst of disgust after she gives me a light peck, her hand coming up to her mouth. "Ew! You're all stubbly!"

"So I haven't shaved in like, four days. Big whoop." I roll my eyes, rubbing my cheek as a small test for the stubble that offended her. I don't grow facial hair well, but after a few days of no-shave-November in August, even I get a nice red shadow across my face. It's not as filled out as Rude's well kept and maintained goatee, but it's there nonetheless. Even Tseng ends up with five o'clock shadow when given enough time to breed it, which is hard for a Wutain to do, if the stereotype is correct.

"Why haven't you shaved? That's nasty. Your face is nasty." She wrinkles her nose, taking a sip of coffee that's probably got an entire cow's worth of cream in it.

"Hey, my face is perfection. Quit bein' jealous."

"Your face is just an ass with eyes."

"At least I don't look like a thumb with a moustache, Rude."

"Children, stop fighting." Well damn, we were just getting started! Curses on Tseng for being able to spoil a good time. "Good to see you back; Elena, Rude. You left them with Lee?" Of course they stuck Lee with boss babysitting duty. As a Junior Turk he automatically draws the short straw. If I had been in their shoes I would've done the same thing.

"Yes, sir." Elena speaks, like that's any damn surprise, as Rude nods in affirmation. "All three of them are accounted for and Lee most likely has a splitting headache by now."

"Is Caleb sick or are Rufus and Hannah fighting again?" Tseng pulls up a chair, laying his tablet on the table and giving Elena his full attention. I swear, someday his eyes are going to fall out of his head if he keeps taking work home with him on that damn thing.

"Both, actually. Rufus and Hannah are fighting _because_ Caleb is sick. Apparently Hannah is convinced that we let her little angel lick doorknobs. How else would a pre-schooler get the flu?" The eye roll Elena and Rude simultaneously deliver is a good sign that Rufus' fiance is being a raging bitch again. She's good at that.

"Mothers are protective, Elena. She'll calm down." Tseng gives as diplomatic as answer as he can, but I know that inwardly he's cringing up a storm. "Is that why you're back from Junon early?"

"That and Reeve and Rufus managed to wrap things up early. We had to step in though. Did you get the email I sent you last night on the matter?" That angelic little face of her's is looking much darker now. I haven't even glanced at the email that I likely received along with Tseng, but I can tell from the shadow that flickered behind her eyes and the slight tensing of Rude's face that they had to get their hands dirty.

"Actually, I called Rufus last night and he explained the matter to me in exaggerated detail. He didn't inform me that you were coming back last night though. I presume he didn't want a check up from me?"

Rude answers this time, his hand reaching up to catch mine and set it in my lap since I've been playing with his piercings for about five minutes. "Caleb is sick and Hannah is bitching. He spared you."

"I'll thank him when I stop by tonight."

"Reno, why is your arm in a sling?" Gotta congratulate Elena on those astonishing powers of perception she's got.

"I-"

"He and Avery managed to catch a Fantasy dealer in Midgar. There was a friendly fire mishap." I glare at Tseng when he cuts me off, but like normal he ignores my indignant stare.

Both of them blanch; none of us like discussing going into Midgar anymore. Rude sets a hand on my knee and squeezes lightly, a reassuring gesture of protectiveness that I appreciate. "Avery shot him? Was it on purpose?" One of Elena's eyebrows has disappeared behind those asymmetrical bangs she wears while the other is trying to fly off her face. She has some exaggerated facial expressions sometimes, but it's part of her charm. She's fairly easy to read when she's caught off guard, but who isn't?

"It wouldn't be friendly fire then, would it, Laney?"

"Right, right sorry. Ricochet?"

"Ricochet."

And like that, the conversation is over and the tension dissipates. Rude's hand leaves my knee, I resume tugging at his guages, and Tseng and Elena go back to discussing the news of the day. I almost have them tuned out because Rude and I are having a silent battle of wills along with an awkward arm wrestling match as we stare each other down while fighting over whether or not I get to keep toying with his damn ear when I hear my name pop up in a context I'm not particularly fond of. I give up on Rude and swivel in his lap, sitting upright. "Excuse me, I believe I just heard myself get volunteered for babysitting the sick four year old and I'd like to use this opportunity to play the sick-slash-injured card and opt out of that."

"Reno, you like Caleb. He thinks on your level." Everyone but me giggles at Elena's little attempt at smart-assery, but I plaster a deep frown on my face.

"I ain't in no shape to be a human jungle gym for the sticky little monkey!"

"Double negative, Reno."

"Shut up, Rude." I thump Rude's knee with my good arm, glad to hear a little swear when his reflexes make him kick the table leg.

"Reno, don't be a pill." Gods, sometimes Tseng sounds like a senior citizen. "Caleb likes you and Rufus is taking Hannah out tonight. Someone has to babysit and I just got volunteered to watch the big baby and his future wife. Want to trade? I'll take a runny nose over a runny mouth."

I cringe. I don't hate Hannah, none of us do, but she talks as much as Elena used to. "I changed my mind; I can babysit just fine."

"That's what I thought." Tseng smiles at me, just a little, and despite my desire to glower at being put on guard duty for the toddler, I want to beam back at him. I dunno why. I always want to smile when he does it first. I settle for a half smile and look away, clearing my throat. He clears his too and stands, grabbing his tablet off the table and making his way to the coffee pot. "Reno, your captive should be sober in a few days. We need to discuss what methods we'll be using in front of Avery. It's her first interrogation with us and I don't want to baby her, but I don't want to shelter her either."

"Where is she anyways?" Elena looks to me, head canted to one side.

"I told her to come in this afternoon instead of this mornin'. A reward for shooting me and getting me put on light duty until Tseng cracks and let's me heal my arm up proper." I snicker and Rude thumps me in the back of the head lightly. I know he wants to laugh too, but he can restrain himself. I give it about four days before Tseng caves under my needling and the pressure of necessity and lets me magic my arm back to full functionality. He's convinced that if we keep using magic to rapidly heal ourselves, we'll end up with cancer or something. He's probably not wrong, but the chances of any of us getting cancer from materia use are so damn slim it's laughable. If nothing else I'll get lung cancer before magic cancer. Cigs aren't called cancer sticks for nothing, after all.

Tseng rolls his eyes and turns to leave the lounge, a mug of coffee in one hand and his tablet clutched in the other. "You're all dismissed. Rude, Elena, I want full reports of what happened over the week by Wednesday. Reno, I want you to write me a report of your trip to Midgar and I want it before you go to Rufus' at five o'clock. Remember that we're getting a new set of potential recruits on Saturday so Reno, brush up what you want to say when we address them. Reeve has had the WRO generals pull up nearly a dozen very viable candidates for us so we all should take a glance at their records over the week to acquaint ourselves with what we'll be training to potentially fill those gaps we have."

"You mean that gaps we've had for like, six years?" I snigger softly, shaking my head. We've been trying to replace everyone who deserted or died after the Zirconiade and the Jade Weapon shit went down, but that's been a long, bloody process. The few of us who remained to clean up after that mess was made are, as stated, very few. We used to have over a dozen Turks and, while we've been dealing the past six years with under seven, sometimes even with only two, we really need to bolster up our numbers.

"Yes, Reno, those gaps. Oh, and Reno?" Tseng turns, looking at me seriously. "We have a meeting this afternoon. Three o'clock. Don't be late."

"I make no promises." I smirk, hopping off Rude's lap and trudging to my office to get some coffee that Elena hasn't had a chance to ruin with creamer. I feel the glare Tseng gives me for my flippant dismissal of his concerns, but he knows better than to pester me, I think. If he gives me enough gruff about showing up to the meeting on time I'll skip it altogether just to piss him off. I should honestly work harder to gain his approval and cooperate better and do my job the way it's meant to be done, but where the hell is the fun in that?

When I enter my office, I think my struggle with the door is because I tried using my bum arm first. Then, cursing and spitting as I shove against my door, I realize that the problem lies less with me and more with the rubbish strewn in front of the door and across the floor. Once I manage to get the door open, I spy the reason for the sudden increase in mess.

Cait Sith is sitting in the middle of my office, the eye of this messy shitstorm that has officially wrecked my office. He doesn't seem to notice that I've come in, Reeve's obviously stressing over something if half of his brain is so hell bent on destroying my office that it hasn't taken into account that I might actually kill him for this shit.

Once I'm right behind him, he seems to notice me, if his terrified squeak is anything to go by. I grab his cape as he tries to scamper back to the air vent he must have come in through and lift his disarmingly heavy metal body by it, doing my best to keep a hold of him. I want to chuck him across the room, to beat the little shit until he's nothing but fur and bolts on my floor, but I know that would give Reeve a splitting migraine and render him completely useless for the rest of the day. Normally I wouldn't mind giving the man a bit of grief, especially since he just made a mess in my room, even if he didn't do it consciously, but we've got a meeting this afternoon and he did just get back from a long week in Junon dealing with Rufus and quite a few other big wallets for the WRO, so I figure he's suffered enough to justify this weird ass cat's obnoxious behavior.

"Put me down!" Shrieking and yowling like the cat he's designed after, Cait Sith valiantly attempts to free himself of my grasp. His efforts are for naught, however, as there is no way I will be letting the little asshole loose until I get some clarification and custodial assistance regarding his mess.

"Explain before I take you apart and turn you into a fuzzy footrest." I face the cat towards me, putting enough of a death threat into my eyes to let him know I'm not taking excuses.

Cait squirms for a few moments more, whimpering pathetically. I know he could free himself if he wanted to, he's a fifty pound cat robot and while I can hold him up, if he really wanted to put up a struggle I'd have some trouble keeping my grip on him. I think he may just know that freeing himself now would mean he'd become target practice later. Pouting at me, he crosses his arms over his chest and gives a raspy sounding sigh. "I'm looking fer a blueprint Reeve sent over. He wasn't done with it and it got sent over."

"Dude, Cait, why the hell did you destroy everything to get it back? That doesn't make sense. My office looks like a crazed chocobo went through it. Why didn't you just wait for me to come back and I woulda given it to ya. I know where everythin' is you fucked up cat!" And with that admonishment, I drop the little bastard right back into his mess. "This mess best be cleaned up. You've got till I get back. Where the hell is my laptop you rat?"

"The desk." Cait starts grumbling as he picks up papers, his tail twitching in annoyance at being forced to clean my office. "Where's the bloody blueprint?"

"If the room is clean when I get back, I'll give it to you. Little bastard." I grumble at him, taking my laptop from the desk and stomping out of the room with it under my arm. As I'm leaving I hear that dumb accent call out a question, probably about when I would be returning, but I leave without answering. I'm going to be working in Rude's office until the brat is done. I hate Reeve's silly creations sometimes. The Reeve-suits that Cait wears sometimes really creep me out. I never can be sure if I'm talking to the real Reeve.

That thought alone is a little disturbing.


	8. Soft

Rude isn't surprised when I enter his office, giving me a nod before returning to his paperwork. I set up shop at a corner of his desk as best as I can one handed and get to work, taking my cues from him. No need to address why I'm here, he never asks.

After a few hours, Rude reaches behind himself to open the window, a small knowing smile on his lips as I begin to fidget and finger the cigarettes in my pocket. "Weird noises comin' from your office, Red." He's looking at me, sunglasses folded and hanging from the collar of his shirt. His tie is wrapped around the hand that reaches for a cigarette and the lighter once I've lit up.

With a roll of my eyes, I prop my legs up on his windowsill, getting comfortable. "I don't wanna talk about it, man. It's dumb as shit."

His feet join mine on the sill and we both sit and people watch for a bit, smoking in a companionable silence that we have rarely been able to enjoy over the past few months. For whatever reason, he and Elena have been sent off more and more often, dragging Lee with them most times, and leaving me and the others to our separate business. Not that I don't mind the time I spend with Tseng or Avery, they're both enjoyable to be around in their own ways, but time with Rude is different. I don't have to try with Rude, ever. He's always got space for me, even when he doesn't have time. His new couch folds out in case I want to crash at his place. I've got a toothbrush in his medicine cabinet. There's a ceramic mug with a chip in it that's specifically mine in his cupboards. I wish I could, but I can't say I treat him as well as he treats me.

"How's the arm?" Rude breaks the silence, tapping my foot with his.

"Attached." There's some woman on the sidewalk across the street talking to a WRO soldier and I watch them for a bit, wondering what their relationship is.

"Hurtin'?"

"I'm ignorin' it." Maybe they're breaking up? Who the hell knows. I can't really see them, but their stances seem as though they're two people used to touching who suddenly can't. It's weird to watch.

Rude turns, taking his feet from the sill and my attention from the window. He rummages through his desk for a bit before bringing himself back to the window, flicking his cigarette out as he passes me a small bottle of pills. I raise an eyebrow, rolling the bottle in my hands. "I saved what was left the last time I got hurt. What Tseng don't know won't kill him, right?"

"Rude, I shouldn't-"

"I trust you not to make an ass out of yourself, Reno." The stern look I get stops my protest. "You're smarter now."

I nod, glad that he's confident in me, even if I'm terrified of myself. Pain killers and me used to have a far too intimate relationship. I was a junkie as a teen, not on medications, on worse things, but when something numbs the mind, clears everything out and leaves a pleasant numbness that permeates everything, I find it hard to resist. Alcohol I can handle, pills I cannot. I proved that time and again in my younger years. "You're gettin' soft on me, Rude."

Snorting, he turns away from the window and I hear his fingers tapping keys again.

We both know he's been soft for years, at least when it comes to me.


	9. Cold

I shiver, stomping my feet a bit to try and warm them as I smoke a cigarette that is, per Hannah's rules, forbidden within her home. Why the hell is it so damn cold outside now? I'm at Rufus', stuck here for the night with a kid who's been sleeping deeply since I got here and an aging guard hound who's been doing the same. I cased the home, like I do every time I come over even though I know Lee was here all day, and now I'm bored until little Caleb, with his big blue eyes and stick straight blonde hair wakes up to sneeze at me. I can see a little of Hannah in his face, but the four year old is a spitting image of his father.

Rufus and Hannah's story is actually fairly interesting, despite how cliche their romance is. They sound like something out of a bad romance novel, but it works for them so I can't complain. Rufus, the eccentric power hungry billionaire made vulnerable by injury, and Hannah, the physical therapist that taught him to walk, and to love. If they didn't fight sometimes I swear I'd vomit on them for the sheer mushiness of it all. About a year after they started dating, little Caleb came into the world and Rufus has been turning corners left and right with his personality. At first, he just wanted to stop the geostigma, afraid that since he'd caught it, his baby and wife-to-be would catch it too. Once that was gone and he actually got to be around the sticky little monster and it's mommy on a daily basis, he started getting behind the rebuilding of the world for less selfish reasons.

In my humble opinion, she's the best damn thing to happen to the man.

The light tapping of fingers on glass let's me know my charge is awake and I smile in spite of myself, stubbing the cigarette out and hiding it in one of the potted plants dotting the patio. I don't like to admit it, but I love this little kid. Caleb has an affect on all us Turks. He's more powerful than he would even be able to grasp, with six cold blooded killers wrapped around his little fingers, not counting his own father. We all spoil him, though we do our best not to. I've bought the kid I don't even know how many plush toys because I thought he'd like them. His bedroom is full of the damn things, not all my doing either. The spoiled little rat even has a separate room for his toys, we've all given him so many.

I slide the glass door open, a smile on my face as Caleb looks up at me with the most adorably miserable face. "Hey, snotface. How ya feelin'?"

Raising tiny hands to be picked up, he whines to me with a sniffle. "My nose hurts!"

I acquiesce, lifting him into my arms and letting him nuzzle into my shoulder. I took the sling off once Tseng and the others left the house, glad to be able to move my arm, even if it does hurt like hell. I know from personal experience that I can move my arm even with the bullet wound, they always try and immobilize me though because, I'll admit it, I tend to get stupid and do too much and make the damn stitches tear and I start to bleed again or get it infected or anything else on the laundry list of crap I do to myself due to a lack of patience for the healing process. I doubt lifting a toddler counts as extreme movement, however, and I would rather move my arm than let it sit for a week.

"That's cause it's full of snot, kiddo." I pull a handkerchief out of my pocket and hold it to his face. "Blow, squirt." He does so messily, and I return the now dirty cloth to my pocket. No sense in letting it get too far away if the tots nose is all stopped up. He rests his head on my shoulder and I feel his forehead, glad to know that it's cold. I don't want to deal with a feverish child. They're no fun.

"Uncle Reno, what's on your arm?" It still occasionally creeps me out that the four year old speaks more complete sentences than me, but Rufus and Hannah are adamant about babytalk. Thusly, while he pronounces things a little clumsily, this little tot almost sounds like an adult. It's not a bad thing, per se, but it is occasionally chilling.

"A bandage, kid. I got hurt." I've got a t-shirt on that I grabbed from the dresser Rufus has in a spare room for us Turks to store some personal effects. We've each got a drawer, but I'm pretty sure I stole this shirt out of Tseng's. It's baggy on my lean and wiry frame, but it's clean and comfortable. Normally I wouldn't have dared to, but I couldn't fit any of my own rather snug t-shirts over the bandage.

Caleb lightly touches the bandage and frowns as I carry him to the kitchen, his lower lip jutting out. "Were you fighting bad guys again?"

"Of course, kiddo. Who else would I fight?" I set him on the counter and his face brightens. He knows he gets to break rules when I'm here and sitting on the counter is definitely one of the best ones to break. It means he can reach his snacks, and those big blue eyes are already looking for something sweet to munch on. "Want some food?"

"Yes, please." He squirms a little, coughing into his elbow. It just serves that the kid is more polite than me too. Give him two years and he'll be smarter.

I dig through a cupboard, preparing to make soup for the little sicko. I probably know this kitchen better than my own, not that I cook much. It's mostly because I've gone over every inch of this house more times than I can count. "How does soup sound?"

Apparently it sounds pretty damn good, because he nods and watches me with those bright, bright blue eyes. He's so very like his father in looks, but his mannerisms have to be from Hannah's side of the family. I just can't imagine Rufus being this polite as a child. Of course, he probably got the belt from his dad a lot so maybe he was. I don't know. He and I don't ask each other about our respective childhoods. It would put a strain on the friendship we've managed to gain over the years to talk about stupid shit from our pasts.

I make his soup and let him eat it on the counter too, something that thrills him to no end. I make myself a sandwich, not because I'm particularly hungry, but because I know I haven't eaten since lunch and if I don't get something in me now I won't get another chance at it until Tseng carts Rufus and Hannah home. Once he's done eating, I clean up our mess in a half-assed kind of way and take him to his playroom. We pass Dark Nation on the way and I step carefully around the old bat, not wanting her to wake up in a start and try to beat me into submission with that tentacle of hers. She might be old as shit now, but Nation still hates me and is willing to get her creaky old bones in motion if it means she gets to try and chomp on me a little. She never draws blood anymore, but that damn tentacle still packs a wallop.

It seems like hours later, time spent blowing a tiny nose and playing with sock puppets and making an extravagant pillow fort and reading stupid stories to him, that the kid falls asleep again. It's a pity that he has, because he's laying on my chest, drooling a little and breathing shrill little snores. I can't bring myself to move him, so it's a damn good thing this mountain of plush toys we've turned into a lumpy bed of sorts is comfortable.

I don't realize at all when I fall asleep, boredom and general exhaustion pulling my eyes shut.

I do realize, however, when the front door opens. I wake, holding Caleb tighter, a book serving as his blanket where I left it over his back when I fell asleep. I lay still, listening past his snores to Dark Nations raspy bark as she greets Rufus and Hannah, relaxing when I realize who has entered the place. It's not like there haven't been WRO soldiers guarding the estate since we got here, but I feel guilty for having fallen asleep at my post and I do my best to seem like I've been awake the whole time when, eventually, padded feet lead happy and staggering parents to my young charge. When the playroom door is opened and it hits the wall, I realize that Rufus and Hannah must be a little far gone; normally they'd be cursing the scuff their doorknob would leave on the wall.

Dark Nation tugs the blanket off our makeshift fort and I blink, not realizing how dark it had gotten under the blanket once I turned off Caleb's tiny toy lantern. A forty watt bulb makes a lot more difference than one would think. I get a few seconds to blink before I have to respond to whispery giggles as Hannah, attempting to be quiet, tries to talk to me.

"H-how was Caleb?" She's a little loud, but the attempt the petite brunette makes is obvious.

"He was an angel, whaddaya think he was?" I smirk, taking the book off of Caleb's back as I sit up with him, trying very, very hard not to wake him.

It would have been a successful transition too had Rufus not spoken. He does seem to try and be quiet, but his normal speaking voice carries anyways so of course Caleb would hear his whispering attempt to be quiet. "You should babysit more often, Reno. Maybe I'll give you a permanent switch. You seem good at it."

"I wanna go pee." Any retort I would have made is interrupted by Caleb's statement and I quickly set him on sleep heavy feet to walk with his mother to the bathroom.

Rufus ruffles my hair, an odd display of affection that lets me know he really is drunk. He only plays with my hair to piss me off or when he's drunk. I bat his hand away, smirking at him. "Shit man, you guys had a helluva night, didn't you?"

"I even got Tseng to drink with us, Reno. _Tseng!_ I am amazing." He snorts softly, moving to pat Dark Nation instead of me as she presses against him. She's watching me warily, still unable to trust me even after fourteen years of knowing me. Maybe it's because of that fact, actually.

"How'd you manage to do that?" I look up in genuine surprise, not quite ready to pull myself to my feet yet. I'm a little stiff. No matter how comfortable that plushie fortress was when I fell asleep, it was hell on my back. Lumpy, colorful, beady eyed hell.

"Told him we were celebrating." Rufus smirks, kneeling down with some difficulty to join me and Nation on the floor. He still has some trouble with motility, even five years after being half crushed, but I can understand that. We're in a similar state, he and I. I just had to get better faster by necessity. My work demands speed and precision. If he'd been crippled for the rest of his life, permanently wheelchair bound like the doctors had initially said he'd be, he'd still be able to sign papers and give speeches and throw money into the pockets he wanted. Were I crippled by Platefall, I'd be in a run down apartment living off a scant stipend from Shinra for my past duties to them. Or I'd have been shot. Who knows what Rufus would have had done with a lame horse like me if I couldn't have run the race for him anymore. I try not to think about that.

"What were you celebratin', exactly?" I stretch, hearing my back pop like bubble wrap.

"Hannah and I can finally get married, man!" Rufus' smile says it all; the stupid chapel thing he's been waiting on for their special day has been inspected and cleared and by the gods is it really ready? I could have sworn I drove past it a few weeks ago and it was still being worked on. Not that I've paid much attention, honestly. Rufus has been keeping what he calls his chapel and what I call his celebratory skyscraper close to the chest. Of course, we'll be casing the building over and over again before that wedding is ever allowed to happen there, but Rufus still wants us out of the loop on how it was planned.

"Glad to hear it, Ruffie." He must really be happy because he doesn't glower at me for the nickname, instead making kissy faces at Nation that she seems to appreciate, if her wiggling is any indication.

"Tseng's best man. Ain't that great? We asked him tonight. I thought about askin' you, ya know. I just figured he'd give a more professional speech where yours might be...profane." He snickers, rising to his feet again with difficulty.

"I ain't mad, Rufus. You were right. I would not have made a good speech." I smirk, getting to my feet much faster. I even manage to help him get upright a little faster. Nation growls at me when I grab his arm to steady him, but I ignore her. "Let's go get you tucked in with your pretty lady, huh? She's gotta be done tuckin' the tyke in by now."

"Yes, please." Rufus smiles at me as I lead him down the hall to his room and for a moment I see where Caleb might have taken pieces of Rufus' personality, but I know Rufus will be bitchy again come morning.


End file.
